The Phantom Oneshots
by Cordyceps
Summary: Three oneshots written in 2007 about the less-noticed characters in the Danny Phantom universe.
1. Eccentricity

"Excuse me mister, um..."

"Name's Johnson."

"Mister Johnson, but why is there a castle in the middle of Wisconsin?"

Mr. Johnson paused to light his pipe before placing it back in his grey-rimmed mouth. "Oh, that's the home of the Wisconsin Dairy King."

"What?"

"You claim to be a native of Wisconsin, you've never heard of the Dairy King?"

"I've heard of the restaurant chain..."

The old, grey-maned stranger stared right in the young man's eye. "The restaurant chain? THE Restaurant CHAIN? The restaurant chain is NAMED after him, you fool! Modern kids, I swear..."

The younger of the two men cringed and gulped. "Well, since I don't know who the Dairy King is, could you tell me?"

Johnson took out his pipe and softened his glare on the boy. "Very well. In Wisconsin, there once was a man named Horton Pikes. He was an interesting mix of connoisseur and entrepreneur, able to tell both the quality of a piece of cheese and the cow from which it came, and how he could use it to his advantage. He'd go to various dairy farms throughout the state, talking to the farmers, inspecting the cows, and drinking the sweet, sweet milk that came strait from their udders. The farms that had the best cows, he made a deal with. If they each gave him one of the young of their best milkers, he'd pay them ten times the animal's worth, as well as give them the offspring of those cattle. They said yes. Horton carefully raised the animals by hand, giving them just the right things to make them grow into healthy, beautiful bulls and heifers. He bred them together, and, keeping to his word, he gave the offspring back to the farmers. However, he kept some to himself, eventually creating the finest line of dairy cows ever to exist: the Horton."

"Horton used the cow's milk to create exquisite dairy products such as the world had never seen; creamy, smooth, ambrosial ice cream, aromatic cheeses, shining butter of pale gold, ethereal cream, and the most heavenly milk to ever touch men's lips. They were practically god-food. He sold his products, and became a millionaire."

"But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Hush, boy! Horton settled down for awhile. He got married to a beautiful woman, got a big house, raised a family. But as he got older, he went a little... strange. He declared himself the King of Dairy, and went around wearing an outfit like someone out of a fairytale, with a piece of cheese under his crown and an ice cream cone attached to his staff, still going around, checking on the other farmers and their cows and their milk. Tore down his old house, built a castle on its foundation. Declared all the dairy farmers he'd helped the Nobles of Wisconsin. Most of the people nearby played along with the old fellow. But his wife grew ashamed of his antics, and was having an affair with an actor named Adolph Masters."

"Masters?"

"What of it, boy?"

"Nothing. Continue the story."

"His wife hated her husband's behavior, and loved another man. So she killed him."

"Killed him?"

"Well, that's what most people think, anyways. She said he died of old age, but any half-wit could figure out it was poison."

"And nobody realized?"

"World's full of stupid people."

"True."

"So anyways, he died, and she and all her children became Masters and moved to a more modern mansion. Horton Pikes was buried in a nearby cemetery, with the inscription 'Here lies Horton Pikes, Dairy King of Wisconsin. May he dine well in Heaven.' But most people say he never got there, and that his ghost lingers in the castle still, unaware of his wife's treachery."

"Is that why nobody's bought it?"

"Well, that and people think it'd be a disgrace for anyone who wasn't Horton's heir to live in the castle, but yea. And I never caught your name, boy."

"It's Vlad, Mister Johnson. Vlad Masters."


	2. Placeholder

Hello.  
>I am MD-E #4.<br>Oh, I'm _sorry_. You probably cringe at me saying my programed, unique, true name and not the "human" name you gave me. As impersonal as it might seem to you, I would perfer breing refered to by a number than by the same exact set of sylables as at least three other women. "Maddie" is not personal to me, but #4 is. #4 is who I am.  
>I've loved you for a long time. You know that, but you don't love me. You never did. I'm just another part of your virtual harem, created to satisfy your lust for a similar woman. Every one of us has the same eyes, hair, face, figure, even outfit. All to satisfy your fantasies which have no purpose.<p>

I know what happened to #1.  
>There must have been a #1 at some point, musn't there? After all, our numerical names are in order of programing and completing. 2, 3, 4. But now there is no #1. I think I know why. She fell for JK #1, didn't she? Your punching bag. You couldn't have that, could you? So you eliminated her. She never existed. That way you could continue with your Stepford fantasies.<br>Why are you so accepting of subsitutes, anyways? Holograms. Clones. Even a _cat_, which will never, despite your longings, either play chess with you or tell you "I love you." All so you could pretend to have something real. The real Maddie doesn't love you, and I don't either.  
>My sisters are still smitten with you, of course. They fight over who will be able to give you the newest data every shance they get. They say I've gone glitchy, that I've gone mad. Just like #1. You know what? I don't care if I'm glitchy - at least I can see. And I want to see you fall.<br>Vlad _Masters_.


	3. Con Man

He was a con man.

He went from place to place, each time with a new name, a new identity. He spoke differently, had different interest, had different hair and clothes. No one could hunt him down.  
>He took advantage of the fact that he looked younger than his age. He wasn't sure <em>what age<em> he was, but he was sure he was older than the fifteen years he usually posed as. Innocent girls (or boys; it didn't matter to him) with rich parents would fall for him, with the personality he had tailored specifically to their interests, and they'd grow close. They'd share everything with him. Conversations. Movies. A bed, sometimes.  
>Money.<br>Then he'd run off, breaking the kid's heart and taking the money with him. He did this from town to town, stealing from those who trusted him.  
>He couldn't remember <em>why<em> he did it. He just wasted it all anyways.  
>He couldn't remember a lot of things, to be honest. He couldn't remember who his parents were, or how he'd been separated from them. Had he ran away? Did they die? If so, how? He couldn't remember his name, either. He'd long ago learned not to get attached to names. A name used twice could be heard twice, and tracked down from that. He'd end up in jail. Maybe worse.<p>

So when he came to Amity, he knew the Mansons were rich. They might have kept it secret from the locals, but few things were secret from him. He knew about their daughter, too. Tree-hugging, eco-loving subculture freak.  
>He could pull that off.<br>He researched what he could about the goths and about eco-freaks. What the trends were, what they talked about, what they did. After a bit of that, he decided maybe he could pull off a white goth.  
>It helped that (when he didn't dye it) his hair was white anyways.<br>He got close to their daughter, Sam. He wormed into her heart, getting close enough for her to trust him completely, totally, with absolutely _anything_. He just hadn't counted on _him_.  
>Either of them, really.<br>If it hadn't been bad enough that the geek, who just so annoyingly _knew_ who and what he was and liked and _reveled_ in it like a dog in something rotting, followed him around constantly, there was Sam's former boyfriend, who just seemed to X-ray-vision through his gut and _knew_ he wasn't for real, constantly eyeing him suspiciously.  
>And then, along with all those government creeps in white suits running around, was that kid. The one the suits were after. The one the suits thought was him.<br>Black and white clothes. Neon green eyes. _White hair._  
>Rather freakish that he was in the same attire when he entered Amity Park.<br>Danny Phantom, wasn't that his name? How, when the vigilante had looked him in the eyes, he felt in awe at the fact. The fact that this wandering spirit (if that was to be believed), despite all the names that others threw around at him, could still maintain his own constant identity. _Danny_, his personal name, the one that would be used by anyone who knew him personally, if anyone did. _Phantom_, his family name, the name that linked him with others of his kind.  
>Eventually, he blew his cover. No worry, just hide under another alias: Elliot from Michigan, a simple ladies' man. Nothing, more, nothing less.<br>Yet he still could feel the ghost's eyes boring into his.


End file.
